Only Them
by Shadow DarkFlower
Summary: Written as a Birthday fic for Celticgal1041! What was supposed to be a simple delivery becomes something more...


_**This is a birthday gift to my good friend Celticgal1041. You have been a great friend, inspiration, confidant and more to me. Hope your day is filled with Happiness!**_

 _ **Thanks to AZgirl for proof reading this!**_

xXx

If there was one thing d'Artagnan knew, it was that trouble always seemed to find them.

What was supposed to be an easy, in-and-out delivery of a missive to a good friend of the Queen's on the outskirts of a little town a day's ride out of Paris, somehow turned into an challenge of epic proportions.

The first thing was Aramis' horse fell lame and threw him off. When he hit the ground he landed on his arm oddly and broke it at a weird angle.

The next was Porthos, who fell into the creek they were resting at and bashed his head in on a large rock at the bottom, landing him a concussion.

And then, even after all of that mess, they were ambushed on the road by a small group of thieves looking for some coin. Who they dispatched quickly, but not without one of the men getting a good shot off which grazed Athos' side. So finally he'd just finally decided made them rest and wait there, after having taken care of the wounds to the best of his ability, while he made the delivery himself, figuring that he would be back in no time. And he thought, really, what else could go wrong on this disaster of a trip?

But as the young Gascon tumbled down the hill after being kicked off it by a group of men who attacked him on his return trip to his brothers, he really wished he hadn't had jinxed it for himself earlier.

xXx

 _ **Earlier that afternoon:**_

d'Artagnan spurred his horse forward with his heals, desperate to make up the time he'd lost. The Queen's friend, the widow Madame DuBray, was a kindly old lady who loved to talk, but whom didn't receive many visitors. Especially of the opposite sex. So, when the young Gascon had arrived with the letter, she'd insisted he stay for afternoon tea. He hadn't had the heart to refuse her heartfelt request, even though his mind kept traveling to the injured brothers that he'd left on the wayside a couple of hours back down the road towards Paris.

That morning had been going so well. Well, other than the fact that they'd driven Treville insane with their constant playful bickering and sparring, which turned to outright roughhousing (There may have been a small fight or two between them and some other Musketeers over the fact the Inseparables had taken in some lowly kid as a trainee, but not any of them. Luckily, d'Artagnan had learned to ignore what other people said about him. Mostly). So, to give them something to do, Treville had given them the missive he'd just received and sent them off, probably with a good riddance.

d'Artagnan ducked down low on his horse to avoid a low hanging branch. The path was a bit uneven, rocky and slick, due to the rain that had come through the day before. His horse's hooves through up mud in their wake, some of it painted the sides of his boots and breeches in a thick coat of the slimy substance. The Gascon's eyes narrowed as he tried to see through the darkness, as the tree's cut out the dying light of the sun. Dusk fell on the countryside, dropping the low, winter temperatures even lower.

d'Artagnan tightened his grip on the reins and urged his horse more. He needed to get back to his brothers. With darkness swiftly approaching, and none of them able to move with any sort of ease, the cold would bite through their layers of clothing just as it was him. He needed to get back and start a fire. There was no way they were returning to Paris, especially with the injuries his brothers had. Tomorrow, he can patch them up enough to get to a physician, but with the waning light...He wasn't that skilled in being a medic.

d'Artagnan felt his horse's hooves slip in the thick muck, and slowed his pace a bit. If he wanted to get to his brothers, then he couldn't kill his ride. Though a frown furrowed his brows at the thought of being even later than he would have been before.

It was an hour later and the young Gascon was shivering, the cold and wind biting through his doublet and shirt. The tremors coursing through his thin frame knocked his teeth together, and other than his heavy breathing, their chattering the only sound in the otherwise dark and lonely night. As the temperature kept dropping, the harder it was to breathe, the icy air piercing his lungs with spikes of pain.

The young man brushed his discomfort to the side, determined to get to his companions before worrying about any of that. Well, and deal with their wounds the best he could in the dark, the trees cutting out even the moon and strained light of the stars.

The sound of a wolf howling to the full moon echoed through the tree covered lane. He pulled to a stop for a moment, listening closely to check the distance of the animal. When another howl came he relaxed a bit. The way the sound was echoing let him know the animal was far off.

The Gascon checked his surroundings, recognizing an outcropping from when he left earlier that day. Elation flooded his system when he realized that he was only a little ways away from his destination, their hiding spot being just around the bend and down the hill.

d'Artagnan had just spurred his horse forward, speeding up since he was so anxious the get back to his friends when out of nowhere the sound of a pistol pierced the night. He jerked at the sound, and felt a stab of pain shoot through his shoulder. He groaned and slumped forward, which in turn disrupted his balance and he slipped from his horse. He hissed a breath out through his teeth when he landed, the burning in his shoulder erupting into an encompassing blaze. Darkness encroached on his vision and he blinked to push it away.

Once his gaze was steadier again and consciousness returned completely he rolled onto his knees. His good hand reached around and grabbed his pistol. He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring how that pulled at his shoulder, forcing the blaze even hotter under his skin. He unsteadily shuffled over to a nearby tree, seeking it's protection. He leaned against the rough bark, his head tipped back and his dark, expressive, pain filled eyes closed for a moment. He forced them open and chanced a careful look around tree. He could see torch lights bobbing through the trees as his attackers made their way towards his position.

d'Artagnan ducked back completely behind the tree again. His shoulder was on fire, the pain sending shock waves across every nerve in his body. Tremors rattled his frame and he leaned his head back again. He was out-manned and out-gunned. He was now injured, which was severely compromising him considering it was his primary arm. While he could shoot with his left, his aim wasn't as good, and neither was his strength. If he were to get into a fight, he wouldn't be much good.

A sigh escaped his lips, which turned into a groan when he moved and his shoulder jostled a bit. He needed to get moving. The only chance he'd have was if he could get down the hill ahead and onto more level ground. If he could get there, then he could get to his brothers who, even though injured, would he able to provide a bit of assistance. With that plan in mind, the young man pushed off the tree carefully, keeping his injured limb close to his side.

He only made it to the edge of the outcropping before a twig snapping behind him had him spinning around. He tried to raise the arm with the pistol but his assailant moved too quick. A fist rammed itself directly into his wounded shoulder, a shout of extreme pain his response. He buckled beneath the pain, just barely able to turn himself to land on his good side, though the landing still jarred him enough to send him for a loop. He blinked to try and stop the black from completely encompassing him to no avail.

He awoke again a moment later, finding himself swinging over someone's shoulder. He kicked out with all his strength, sending his boot crashing into someone's abdomen. A grunt of pain was heard from his captor and the man stumbled, but was otherwise unaffected. d'Artagnan growled under his breath and squirmed to try and break himself free of the bigger man's grip. His injured shoulder slammed into a tree they were passing by, his captor making sure to step closer than he was, and he screwed his eyes shut, biting his bottom lip to keep his shout of pain from breaking out. Tears streamed unbidden down his pale face.

He was dropped unceremoniously onto the ground at the man's feet. He curled into himself to fight the pain emanating from his shoulder. He rolled his head to the side a bit, and jerked backwards when he realized they were at the edge of the outcropping, the black of the night seeming to go even darker as he stared down into the abyss. He knew what was going to happen and desperately tried to kick out at his assailant, only to realize that his buddies had joined them as well. Three sets of boots filled his vision as he struggled to push himself up. A boot planted in between his shoulder blades, sending fire racing through his veins once more, pushed him back down. Strange hands searched his pockets, coming away empty when they found nothing.

"It's not on him." A small, almost scared sounding voice said. d'Artagnan could only assume that was the man who'd searched him.

A growl of frustration, anger and fear sounded above him, letting the younger man know that the man who'd attacked him before, and who'd ended up carrying him, was not the ringleader.

"Then he's useless. Dispose of him, then we'll deal with the others and report to the boss." d'Artagnan's breath hitched. This man knew where the others were. He fought harder, adrenaline making him oblivious to the pain he was causing himself. The boot was removed at he tried to scramble up, only for a kick to his stomach to send him over the edge.

xXx

 _ **With the Trio-Earlier that day**_

The Inseparables watched with a frown as their young friend and brother rode away from them to deliver the message they'd been sent with. By some happenstance, the trio had been befallen by accidents, which led to injuries, on the way to the Queen's friend's home out in the countryside. While none of their injuries were life-threatening, or even overly serious, they were enough to cause trouble should they continue on the trip. d'Artagnan, being the only one without any sort of injury, decided that he'd go on alone, and come back to them when he was done with the errand. So after putting on bandages to the wounds that needed it, and splinting Aramis' arm, he set out on the trail.

Frustration coursed through the three of them, once their young Gascon friend was out of sight. Such stupid things leading to their uselessness. While they all knew that they were far from useless while in peak condition, and even while injured, they all felt like it right then when their young friend set out all by his lonesome.

This trip was supposed to be simple, just something to keep them occupied and away from the garrison for a time. With all the ruckus they had caused this morning, though unintentionally, which caused Treville to be annoyed and none of them liked that, this short trip had been a welcome relief. Now though, as they watched their younger brother disappear out of site, a pit formed in their stomachs and they just knew that something bad was going to happen.

xXx

It had been an hour since d'Artagnan had left and the trio was going insane.

Porthos had been sleeping in and out, due to his concussion, which made him grumpy at the moments when he was conscious. Aramis had been kept awake by the persistent pain caused by his broken arm, which made him irritable and grumpy.

Athos, while generally fine and mostly healthy other than a small graze, was irritable and annoyed due to his friends lack of civility when they were awake and the lack of a mediator between everyone. His head throbbed in time with his side, as he glared at his brothers, who at the moment he despised to call them that.

"Would you two just shut up. Ignore each other for all I care, but please, let me have some peace." Athos finally groaned out the request. Porthos and Aramis glared at his interruption of their (admittedly) petty argument, but after a moment sat back in silence. Athos basked in the silence, as he knew it wouldn't last for long.

Sure enough, within the hour, Aramis and Porthos were back to their bickering and arguing, despite both being injured and needing rest. Athos flung an arm over his face, covering his eyes. He'd been able to doze slightly during the period of silence, but it hadn't been enough to give him the energy he'd need of something were to happen.

Ever since d'Artagnan left, the pit in his stomach grew. Every hour that the sun sank lower and the leaves started hiding it's light from view, the pit grew and his stomach dropped. Unease filled all of them, and even Aramis and Porthos stopped their bickering when it grew to be too much to be distracted from.

Something was wrong.

xXx

Another hour passed and the trio was contemplating riding out after d'Artagnan themselves. Hours had passed, more than should have for the short trip from there to Madame DuBray's estate. Athos and Aramis had already gathered their weapons and were trying to put the tack on the horses, with little avail. Porthos, having felt nauseous and light headed as soon as he moved, was still sitting in his spot leaning against a tree, watching his two injured brothers fighting with the saddle and saddlebags.

"Athos, 'Mis, just stop. You fighting to leave is only going to injure yourself more, and where would that leave us? I'm worried about the lad as well, but we're of no help to him if we go and hurt ourselves even more. Let's rest for the night and bandage ourselves up the best we can, and if he still hasn't returned by morning time, we'll ride out after him."

Athos and Aramis both turned to glare at him, going to argue that they couldn't let d'Aratgnan be out there by himself, but their words stalled in their throats when they saw the truth on their larger friend's face. They both scowled, but nodded their assent.

"We'll wait 'til morning, that's it." Athos responded, before grabbing his sword and moving back to his place on the ground. Aramis cursed, the Spanish flying from his lips a testament to his anger. He kicked the leaves on the ground, only to wince slightly when the action jarred his shoulder. The Spaniard slumped down in his spot, lips and brows down turned in a frown.

"The pup's okay right? He has to be. He'd probably laugh and call us Mother hens if he could see how we were acting right?" Aramis question almost silently, like he didn't mean for the others to hear. Athos and Porthos shared a look, before Athos slid carefully over to sit beside the younger man.

"I'm sure he's alright, probably just got delayed. And if not, if something did happen...then we'll deal with it. Together." Aramis returned Athos' sincere gaze, almost as if looking for deceit when he knows he'll find none. He nods, tilting to the side a bit to rest his head on his friend's shoulder in an uncharacteristic show of exhaustion.

xXx

The sun was setting, its weakening rays lighting the world in golds and soft yellows and oranges. The trio were startled awake by the sound of a tree branch cracking under a foreign weight. Aramis and Athos grabbed their swords, Aramis' in his weaker arm due to his broken one. It happened so suddenly it seemed. Men streamed from the shadowed woods, easily subduing the injured Musketeers. One the three were restrained, a man stepped from the shadows, an almost regal air about him. It was easy for them to tell he was the leader of the group.

"Where's the forth one?" He questioned the smaller man at his side. He shook his head.

"He wasn't here. We've got men searching the road and the woods for him." The leader snarled for a moment before replacing his impassive look.

"Search them. It has to be here somewhere." The smaller man, likely the second in command, pointed out three of the men. With a unison nod, they searched the injured Musketeers, only to shake their heads when no letter was found.

"Damn it! Find it. It can't make it to the border."

The trio watched in confusion when more man ran off to try and find d'Artagnan. What exactly did they think the letter they were delivering was?

The leader of the group paced and muttered to himself angrily. The trio watched, and while to most people it would seem like the man was just frustrated, they could see the fear on his face. They exchanged a look before Athos spoke up.

"What exactly is it you're looking for?" The pacing man startled at the question.

"What you were sent to deliver. It contains something that someone doesn't want to get out. Where is it?"

Just as the question was finishing the sound of pistol fire reached their ears, along with heavy movement through the trees and the forest night life ran for cover.

"D'artagnan..." the trio breathed out.

xXx

d'artagnan rolled over with a groan, his entire body aching from the impact with the rocky surface beneath him. Luckily for him, with the dark of the night covering the area, the men who'd pushed him over the edge of the outcropping hadn't seen this ledge beneath it. d'Artagnan groaned when his ribs and hurt shoulder protested him pushing himself up. He felt around quickly for his sword, almost crying in relief when he found it. He stood, steadying himself with a large rock.

Now he just needed to get himself back up to the ground.

He blinked, taking a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, before starting the careful trek along the edge. He looked up when he came to a section that looked climbable, wanting to curse. He had no choice, even with an injured shoulder.

He placed his foot carefully in a crevice large enough for him to use, stretching his good arm out to grab onto a little jut out. He winced, then stretched out his bad arm to do the same, clenching his teeth as he worked through the burning pain. He slowly continued his climb, stopping every few moments to catch his breath.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he pulled himself up over the top, collapsing on the ground, panting and covered in sweat. He could feel the heat of the burn setting in beneath his skin more, but ignored it in favor of pushing himself up again.

He needed to get to his brothers.

xXx

"Sir. The fourth one didn't have it either. It must have already been delivered to the messenger." The leader cursed and roared in a fit of rage. All his men back up a step at his plainly showed fury.

"And the boy?" He grunted out through his clenched teeth. His man shook his head.

"Dead. The bullet didn't kill him, but the fall surely did." The trio shuddered in a gasping breath. Their little brother, while the newest to the group but no less loved, was dead. Tears burned unbidden in their eyes as they glared hatefully at the men in front of them. Aramis snarled in Spanish.

"I'm gonna kill you all!" The Spaniard lunged at the unlucky man in front of him. The pull on his broken arm was the only thing that stopped him when he suddenly cried out it pain. Porthos and Athos were silent in their shock. d'artagnan couldn't be dead. _He_ _couldn't be..._

"Okay...everyone, we need to move. Maybe we can beat the messenger to the border."

"Uh, sir? What are we gonna do about them?" One of the men who'd gone after d'Artagnan waved a hand in the trio's direction.

"Leave them. They're injured and tied up. Let nature take care of the rest." The men mounted the horses they'd tied to nearby trees. Within moments they were gone just as quickly as they arrived. Silence reigned for a bit before Athos started pulling at his bindings.

"Athos, what are you doing? You're going to tear your wrist up! Stop!" Aramis exclaimed, but Athos didn't heed his worry.

"I will not allow d'Artagnan to lie at the bottom of a cliff while we're sitting here tied up and useless." Athos stated calmly. Too calmly. And that worried the other two.

"Athos, we're going to get out, but tearing yourself isn't gonna help any. If you can slide over here, maybe you can reach the knife they didn't find in my boot." Porthos addressed the older man. Athos calmed a bit, and nodded. But before any of them could move, the crackling of branches being trampled under foot disturbed the silence. The trio stilled. Did the men come back to finish the job?

A figure stumbled out of the dark forest, covered with dirt and blood soaking one arm and running down the side of his face. His dark hair hung limply around his face, and eyes bright with fear and pain.

"d'Artagnan..." Aramis breathed out before laughing in relief. The young Gascon smiled slightly, before hurrying over with his knife to slice through their bindings. Once the trio was free, the younger male was wrapped in three pairs of arms. He patted the arm closest to him lightly.

"I'm fine, if a little beaten up. How're you guys?" The trio leaned back and stared at him incredulously.

"A little beaten up? We thought you were dead!" d'Artagnan gazed back at them, not quite in shock, but close.

"Dead? I got shot in the shoulder, not the head."

"They said they threw you off a cliff. How did you survive that?" Aramis demanded, hands still grasping d'Artagnan's good arm tightly, even though his gaze was on his wounded one.

"Oh, that..." d'Artagnan rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "They didn't realize that there was a rock shelf that jutted out. I didn't fall that far, but the darkness hid me, so they didn't see me land." The trio just gazed at him, unblinking.

"They really did throw you off a cliff..."Athos muttered under his breath, hands clenching at his sides. Porthos' eyes shone with barely restrained fury, while Aramis' head dropped to his chest. d'Artagnan's eyes darted between them nervously before speaking.

"Guys, I'm okay. We're all alive, if a bit bruised. That's all that matters right?" The trio pulled in a collective breath before nodding in unison.

"You're right, it is. Now, I'm gonna have a look at that shoulder." Aramis moved to d'Artagnan's other side.

"Hey, you're the one with a broken arm. You _are not_ taking care of my arm!" d'Artagnan shifted away when he went to touch it.

"Well, you don't want Porthos to do it, he's horrible at it, and Athos isn't much better."

"Then it can wait 'til we get back to Paris."

"You are not waiting that long for care!"

"Children, behave. Aramis, you're not doing it, but you can direct me. d'Artagnan, you're going to sit still or I will have Porthos knock you out." Athos spoke up, his tone daring them to defy his order. Aramis muttered under his breath, but moved away. d'Artagnan glared defiantly for a moment, but gave in with a nod.

xXx

By the time, they made it back to Paris the next day, the garrison was buzzing as every available Musketeer bustled around. All motion stopped when the four stepped through the gate before applause started. Treville stuck his head out the door, gaze landing on them. Everyone would later deny they'd ever seen relief on his face.

"You four are the only ones who could make a short, easy trip a dangerous one. Etienne, fetch Doctor Lemay!"

 **Finish~**


End file.
